Bloodplay in the LockerRoom
by Snappy-Pants
Summary: qudditch game cool down.  SNERK! Marcus FlintOliver Wood aka TASTEY!


Title: Bloodplay in the Locker Room; sequel to Bloodplay in the Dungeons and Bloodplay in the Common Room

Author: Snappy Pants

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and that includes these characters. Don't try to sue me. I got nuthin.

Summary: post-qudditch game cool down. SNERK! Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood (aka TASTEY!)

Rating- MA for Cussing, bloodplay, slash, graphic sex and violence, PWP, sap. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE UNDER AGE! IF ANY OF THE ABOVE FACTORS SQUICKS YOU, THAT IS WHAT THE BACK BUTTON IS FOR! I WILL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE IF YOU CONTINUE READING DESPITE THESE WARNINGS AND ARE OFFENDED, FLAMES DUE TO ANY OF THE ABOVE FACTORS WILL BE RIDICULED!

NOTE: Look at me! Updating so soon after the last one! WOOT! is so proud of self. Okay so I have to admit, these seem to be getting progressively more sappy. Sorry. Apparently I'm in a sappy rut. Hopefully it'll still be tastey though! PLEASE PLEASE PUHLEASE review, or I swear on all that is holy and good (i.e. gay porn), that I will never post another one!!!!! ominous thunder . Also- feel free to post ideas for new places for debauchery. The Owlery, anyone?!

Bloodplay in the Locker Room

It had been a hard game. Gryffindor had been taking it up the ass from the first play, and the odds hadn't improved as the game wore on. Of all the players on the Gryffindor team, Oliver Wood took the worst beating.

Spectators would swear they had never seen such a vicious offense on the keeper. Wood had been body slammed and knocked from his broom, clobbered by bludgers, and hit in the head with the quaffle so many times the room was spinning. No one had any idea why the Slytherin captain had suddenly taken to hating the Gryffindor keeper with such obvious…passion…

The game was over, the beating done, and Oliver Wood was standing alone in the showers in the Gryffindor locker rooms. He had moved so slowly after the game, his teammates wincing in pity with every painful moving, that by the time he had gotten to the showers, everyone else had gone. But it wasn't pain that had made the keeper move so slowly.

Oh no, Wood could take hit after hit with the best of them, and pain was the prize and bonus. No, the Gryffindor keeper was moving so slowly because his brain was fuzzy with pulsing arousal. He thanked Merlin and whoever else might be listening that their Quidditch robes were so heavy and padded. No one noticed his hard cock, and took his ragged breathing as a sign of pain, not mind-melting desire.

Wood heaved a sigh, noticing new bruises and sprains and sore ribs as he inhaled, leaning to place his hands and forehead against the cool tile as the hot spray beat gently down his back. He let out the breath, closing his eyes and slowly feeling every muscle in his body try to relax, but every small movement irritated the bruises on his ribs and back. Oliver feebly slammed his fist against the walls, a small sob escaping his throat.

He wanted to be fucked, held. He wanted Flint. He needed his dom, needed the reassurance that came he wasn't a freak. Well, he knew he was a freak, but he needed Flint to come and fuck him anyways. Earlier in the week one of the Weasley twins had walked in on him beating off, razor cuts fresh on his arms. After the initial embarrassment, George (or Fred, Oliver could never tell them apart), has started to flip shit at the cuts on his arms. At first he thought there had been an accident, but when the truth inevitably came out, the Weasley had started backing out of the room with a disgusted look on his face.

It was stupid really, how many times had he been rejected like that? Seen those disgusted looks over the years? But still, it managed to hurt every time. Every fucking time. And it wasn't even a pain he could get off on.

Oliver sighed again, pushing back all the emotional crap to just enjoy the hurt of his body. And damn it hurt so good. He had to fight not to touch himself, wanting it to last, to block out everything else. He heard a quiet footstep behind him.

"Fuck," he muttered, thinking it was one of his teammates come back, and here he was, battered and bleeding with a hard on, standing naked in the shower.

"Hey princess," a cruel voice whispered in his ear. Oliver thought his knees were going to give out. It couldn't be, couldn't be Flint. He wasn't that lucky. But as the familiar hands slid around his waist and the familiar teeth bit into the back of his neck, he knew he was. Some how. The keeper couldn't believe it.

"What are you doing here?" He mumbled, trying to sound surly and not give away his excitement.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Reaping the rewards of all my hard work. And it is hard work, setting new records for keeper brutality and the number of personal fouls in one game." Flint paused to nibble and lick some more down the keeper's neck and shoulders. "But I think it will be worth it," he whispered hotly, hissing into Oliver's ear. Oliver's knees really did give out then.

Lucky for him the Slytherin's hands around his waist were supporting most of his weight already, as he was slowly lowered to the floor, kneeling, forehead still against the wall, the back of his neck exposed like an offering that Flint could never refuse.

Flint winced as his bruised ribs were compressed, scrapes and scratches on his legs being pressed in the floor. God it felt good, his breath already coming in short gasps. He could feel the other boy standing behind him, a domineering presence he had grown to crave. He needed this.

Hands started to wonder over his body. The foreplay had begun hours ago on the quidditch pitch, the Slytherin starting the game before Wood even knew it had begun, building and building it with the sweet care of a connoisseur, lavishing attention his collections. The ecstasy had already been honed to a painful pitch.

Oliver wondered what would happen next, this being a new version of their game.

"What do you want?" came the husky whisper behind him. His eyes went wide. This had never happened before. He didn't know what the right answer was, he didn't know what he wanted. Or at least he didn't know how to articulate it.

The silences stretched between them as Marcus' hands continued to trail over his pet's body, lovingly prodding a bruise there, scratching into a cut here.

"Tell me what you want." This time it was a whisper, commanding against the back of Oliver's neck, sending shivers down his spine.

Oliver licked his lips.

"Take me," he whispered. Leaving out the part of the sentence he knew they didn't talk about. But he tried again. "Take care of me," he said, even more softly, so that Marcus had to strain to hear it. More than a little ashamed at his admission of the need to be taken care of. The hands stopped.

For one terrifying moment, Wood was sure he had said the wrong thing, said something that wasn't okay, that wasn't what he was supposed to say. Then a strangely soft kiss was laid in his shoulder.

"Princess wants to be taken care of, does she?" A seductively cruel tone of voice sent his body into uncontrollable shivers, though he was still kneeling in the warm spray of the shower. "

Oliver heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor, of buttons pooping out of their holes and zippers being unzipped. He licked his lips. Maybe he hadn't fucked this up.

"Yes," he said, with slightly more conviction, "take care of me." He didn't know what tone of voice would be right, would work in saying what he wanted to say without making him sound like some pussyass little girl. He tried to put a bit of a seductive pout into it, but knew Marcus could see right through his act.

"Well then. We'll just have to give princesses what she wants, won't we?" Oliver couldn't believe his ears! Did his luck have no end today?!

Suddenly Flint was kneeling behind him, clothes soaking slowly into the water on the floor flowing towards the drain. He came up close, and without any prelude, thrust into Olvier.

Head thrown back, mouth opened wide in a half gasp half scream, Oliver closed his eyes, resting his head on the Slytherin's shoulder as the other boy thrust into him, picking up a rhythm that was hard and fast, just like they both liked it. A smile curled on the keeper's lips.

"Yes," he said breathily, "Yes, take care of me. Take care of your pet princess." Oliver was hardly playing attention to what he was saying, words falling from his lips as soon as they came to him. Marcus moaned as he bit the other boy in the shoulder, hard.

Blood was beginning to trickle out from Flint's unforgiving entry, slicking Oliver's tight channel, making it even hotter, even as blood began to pool in the teeth marks on his shoulder.

"Yes. Yes, take care of me." Olive had picked up a mantra without noticing it, breathily repeating it in time to the ruthless thrusts.

But the game had gone on too long, the foreplay so exquisitely painful, and these breathy urgings only fanned the flames. Neither of them were going to last long this time.

Marcus thrust faster and faster, unbelievably turned on by this new verbal addition to their playtime, sinking his teeth into whatever and all flesh he could reach, over and over, trying to stifle his cries and gasps.

Oliver's hand reached up behind him, fingers curling relentlessly into the other boy's hair, pushing his hips back faster and faster, still whispering his mantra, though it was now more breathy gasps than actual words.

Flint's hand came up and slicked through the blood that was beginning to coat the keeper's neck and shoulders, and Wood was thankful that they were far enough out of the shower that it hadn't all been washed away. Oliver could feel Marcus' bloody hand come down and palmed the other boy, squeezing painfully tight, scraping nails up and down the length. They were both so close.

No sooner had the thought occurred to him than Oliver was shoved over the edge of orgasm, violently, just like he liked it. His body convulsed, spine bowing up, as he felt his muscles clenching, trying to hold on to that delicious meat inside him. His eyes slid shut as he relaxed against the other boy, enjoying the ride as Marcus thrust faster and faster to get to his own orgasm.

The cum stung in his torn ass as he felt Marcus spend, as Oliver felt him spasming inside him.

Both boys fell onto their side, curling around each other, as they rode the afterglow.

Oliver smiled weekly, curling tighter into the curve of Marcus' arm. They lay there for a few moments, just letting the water wash over and clean them before Marcus sighed.

"Come on, Princess. Lets go."

Somehow Marcus got clothes on the nearly comatose keeper, drying his own with a quick spell, and taking the back hallways to avoid people as he carried the Gryffindor to his room for a nice, long, post-coital nap.


End file.
